


back in the ring

by geneeste



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Consequences, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mayor Oliver Queen, Mental Health Issues, Non-graphic discussions of drug and alcohol abuse, OTA, References to Addiction, Season 5 Spoilers, Season/Series 05, Team Arrow, implied PTSD, light Quentin Lance/Donna Smoak, non-graphic references to violence, season 5 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneeste/pseuds/geneeste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling apart, and what comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	back in the ring

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not sure what this is. Parts of this get heavy, but there's some light at the end, I promise. Title taken from [Chris Pureka's song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8X3LGoMGKo).

Diggle is ashamed of it, but when he returns from overseas, he doesn't go straight home.

The lair is dark when he gets there, probably because it's mid-afternoon (they never quite managed to do their work in the light of day), but he knows exactly where he's going.

The cage is partially lit by a small fixture on the wall, illuminating the corner where his brother often sat.

Diggle waits for a bit, and after a while it's easy to imagine him in that empty chair.

“I'm not here, man,” Andy’s ghost says, shuffling a deck of cards in his lap.

Diggle nods, accepting. “Yeah.”

When the chair is empty again, he drops his bag on the floor, and goes to retrieve some tools.

He takes the cage apart methodically; bolts and screws and each panel of bars, one by one. It takes him a few hours and he does it mindlessly, letting his body take over.

He can’t take the remnants of the cage out of the lair, not without being seen, but he’ll be damned if he lets it remain so that he has to look at it every day, so he drags the parts to a storage closet. Out of sight, and he hopes out of mind.

He’s old enough to know better, but he’s never had a problem fooling himself before, and it’s too late to stop now.

Lyla is waiting for him when he gets home, sitting at their kitchen table. A beat goes by before she gets up to greet him, and Diggle recognizes the set of her shoulders. It’s the weight she wore during the last bit of their first marriage.

She puts her arms around him, and however upset she may be, she puts her whole self into it. He missed her, and he loves her, so deeply that he doesn’t think he’ll ever see the bottom of it. But right now all he can seem to feel is shame. He’s spiraling into it - he knows he is - and he can’t seem to get his bearings long enough to stop disappointing her.

He holds her for a few long moments, and then lets her lead him to their bedroom, where Sara is already sleeping in the middle of their bed. It’s still early, but Diggle takes a shower that’s too hot, and puts on clothes that feel too soft against his skin, and lays down beside his daughter.

He just watches her for a time, periodically running his hand over her soft cloud of hair. Her face has changed in his absence; her cheeks are a little less round, and the shape of her eyes mimic Lyla’s more and more. Her nose, her chin, how tall he can see she is even when she’s curled up, those are his. She’s so beautiful - all the best parts that he can’t see in himself anymore.

Lyla joins them in bed, and pulls Sara’s little body over so they’re cuddled up closely. Then she tugs on Diggle’s arm until he moves over too. When he’s settled, she puts her arm across his back, and rests her forehead against his.

They haven’t spoken much. Diggle maintains the silence partially because there’s so much to say, but mostly because he doesn’t have the words he needs. He can’t begin to explain why he left when he can’t explain _himself_. He can’t explain the man who shot Andy, or the man who left his family, or the man who worked his rage out in Chechnya in the aftermath. He’s a stranger to himself.

Lyla closes her eyes, rubs her forehead against his. It’s as if she can read his mind. “No more running,” she whispers over Sara’s head. “I’m not going to let you disappear, Johnny.”

He wants to believe her. He's fought enough battles with Lyla to know the ones she can win, and her faith has already brought him through one war. He just thinks this might be the one he has to fight on his own.

* * *

Oliver would never admit it out loud, but being mayor has left him in a perpetual state of helplessness.

Leading the city, managing the day-to-day tasks, feels almost sisyphean to him. The Green Arrow’s work is a relief in comparison - a physical task that shows immediate results. The snap of his bow, the impact of his fist - he knows those things like he knows his own heartbeat.

But being the mayor - he's learning how unprepared he actually is for the role, and every day is a harder lesson.

He knows the staff senses his discomfort, and it makes routine interactions an awkward experience at best, and humiliating at worst, which is why he's relied on Thea so much to take care of things.

It doesn’t occur to him that this was a mistake until he goes down to the planning office in search of some zoning records. It takes him a while to find it - he’s still not familiar with city hall, even months in - and when he does, he finds the front desk unoccupied.

He’s about to walk around the partition separating the records from the entrance to look for the receptionist, but pauses when he hears voices come in from somewhere in the back.

“....Miss Queen looking for these?” Says a female voice, sounding young and harried.

“I think so, but she was supposed to come by yesterday for them.” Says a second woman whose voice is more familiar to Oliver. He thinks she’s Keisha, the woman who has been running the planning office for several years now.

“Should we wait for her or send them on to the board? I thought the Mayor wanted to review these right away.”

There’s the sound of papers shuffling, and then of something like cardboard landing on a table. “We can leave these here for today, see if someone comes looking,” Keisha replies.

Oliver opens his mouth to let them know he’s there and that the plans they’re talking about are probably the ones he’s trying to retrieve, when the first woman speaks again. “I don’t know why he doesn’t just come get them himself. Have you actually ever seen him leave his office?”

Keisha hums in reply. “No, but give him some time to settle in and get his bearings.”

“It’s been months. How long is it going to take him to ‘settle in’?”

Oliver’s pulse starts to race. He should speak up, he knows he should, but embarrassment - and a little voice in his head whispering that she’s right - keeps his mouth tied shut.

“Not everyone is going to be good at this job right away. And he’s already lasted longer than some of the other mayors we‘ve elected,” Keisha replies, a tone of warning entering her voice. Oliver is grateful for it, and her defense, and he makes a mental note to find a way to thank her later.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like we had many choices. And honestly, I’m not sure _what_ he’s good at, aside from getting his girlfriends shot.”

Keisha rebukes the other woman sharply, but Oliver barely hears it. Buzzing noise floods his ears as he backs quickly out of the office and down the hall. He flees into an empty stairwell, and he sinks down to sit on the stairs as he tries to get his breathing under control.

His hands are slick, and although logically he knows it's sweat making them feel that way, not blood, he hides them between his legs so he doesn't have to see for sure.

The handrail is cool against his forehead - it just barely helps calm the litany of names singing a terrible song in his head: Shado. Sara. Laurel. Felicity. _Felicity._

The sudden need to call her and hear her voice is almost overwhelming; he needs her to steady him, except he has to learn to steady himself. So he keeps his eyes open and focused on the dingy stairwell wall, regulating his breathing until he doesn’t feel like running away anymore.

Eventually his mind clears, and his hands stop shaking; when he retrieves his phone, he’s relieved to see that they’re normal and not stained red as he feared, and it’s that confirmation that makes up his mind.

He makes a different call.

* * *

Her mother comes back, unexpectedly, and Felicity’s floating.

She’s floating. She’s flying, or maybe hovering. She’s not sure, but she’s not on the ground with ghosts, she’s above them, and that’s really where she wants to be - way, way above them, where she can’t see them or feel them or know they ever existed.

Oliver’s image comes to her unbidden, and he looks scared, like a little boy. He looks like he wants her to come down and hold him, and her heart hurts, because that’s what she wants too. She’s waving at him to come to her - up through those ghosts she’s trying to run away from - when there’s a hard knock and then a key in the door.

She startles up from the couch where she’d been laying, grabbing the little package on the coffee table and tucking it into her pocket quickly. Her mother is squealing a greeting, and then pulling Felicity into her arms for a tight hug.

She’s back on the ground, but her head's still spinning.

Donna chatters about her and Lance’s time away, and Felicity lets her fill the room with noise. She smooths her hair down, thinking it will somehow make her look and feel less thready. It doesn’t really work, but Donna doesn’t seem to notice.

Lance had hung back to watch Donna reunite with Felicity, with an indulgent smile that’s starting to fade. His eyes feel heavy on her face and she avoids looking at him.

Finally (somewhat mercifully), Donna takes a breath. “I’m going to go put our things away - are you coming up?” she asks Lance.

He gives her mother a ghost of the smile he came in with. “In a minute. I’m going to grab a drink of water.”

Donna goes upstairs with a joke about leaving the heavy luggage to Lance. The absence of her vibrancy makes the room seem sallow.

Lance watches her, face unreadable. “Are you going to say it, or should I?”

She closes her eyes briefly. She doesn’t ask how he knows - she was stupid to think she could hide this of all things from him. “It’s not what you think.”

His jaw works. “I think I’m an alcoholic. I think my daughter was a drug addict,” he replies tensely, voice low to prevent Donna from hearing them. “I honestly don’t know what to think about you, other than what you’re doing is a bad idea.”

“I’m not-” God, she wishes her head would stop spinning. “I don’t do this often. Just…” Somehow she senses that ‘when I need to’ would be the wrong thing to say right now. “My mother has _terrible_ timing, as always,” she laughs, without much humor.

“Don’t put this on your mom,” Lance says, with more sadness than anger. “And don’t do this to her.”

He steps forward until he’s closer to her than Felicity can ever remember him being. His voice is hoarse, and so quiet. “Look, I’m not far behind you, I’m really not. I’m barely hanging on.”

The floor is a much comfortable sight than his face, she knows without looking. She’s not floating anymore - she’s anchored to the ground with the weight of 10,000 souls and nowhere to flee.

Lance takes no pity on her. “We can’t both fall apart. You need to find a way to deal with this,” his voice breaks, and her heart follows. “I swear to god, I can’t take it. I lost my kid, don’t make me watch your mother lose hers.”

There’s an itch under her eye, and she puts her fingers up to scratch at it and realizes it’s because her face is wet. She’s not sure when she started crying or what she’s going to say to him. She has no idea how to move, forward or backward.

She’s saved by her phone pinging. It’s Diggle’s special tone, and so she goes to it immediately, without thinking, because this is his first day back.

_SOS. Big Belly, 15 minutes._

SOS - it’s her own language from years ago, a silly code for indicating when she needed a good laugh and junk food at the end of a bad day. It’s exactly what she needs - not just to escape from Lance and his hard truths, but also because it _has_ been a bad day.

“Tell my mom I’m going out,” she says, trying - absurdly - to sound normal.

“You’re not driving?” Lance asks in acknowledgment, gruffly.

“I’ll take a cab,” she replies as she puts on her coat. She still hasn’t managed the courage to look him in the eye, not once.

She doesn’t wait to hear what he says. She tells herself that her mind couldn’t process it in this state any more than her heart could.

And she runs to Diggle.

* * *

It’s been years since they last paid a visit to Big Belly, but it hasn’t changed much. Carly had sold it at Diggle’s urging last year, and the new owners had kept most things the same - aside from a slight change in the way certain foods tasted, Oliver couldn’t really see any difference.

Still, Oliver has always thought that it was people that made a place - made it special, or made it home. Sitting across from Diggle now, that feels truer than ever.

He’s not really surprised when he sees Felicity walk in. It hadn’t been his intention when he called Diggle, but he’s glad that Diggle invited her. He always wants to see her, tonight especially.

Felicity seems...not disheveled, exactly. It’s more a sense of not being entirely put together, which is unusual for her. Her image, her presentation - it’s her armor, in a way. Strength in projection, she used to tell him. That she’s allowing her projection to be off is telling.

But then, he can only imagine what he looks like; surely he must look as ragged around the edges as he feels. Diggle’s not fairing much better, appearing jet lagged from his trip back and a week past his last shave.

The three of them had always kept good company.

She stops short of sitting down when she reaches them. Her eyes are overly shiny and drawn at the corners, but she smiles. “Well, this is a cheery group. I’d asked who died, but...well, you know.” She tapers off, and visibly cringes at her own joke as she unbuttons her coat and sits.

Oliver decides to side-step the comment. “We’re celebrating Diggle’s homecoming.” He nods to Diggle, who responds with a smile that more closely resembles a grimace. They all know that’s not really why they’re here, but it’s a nice thought.

“Yep, already got started,” Diggle says, tipping his beer at Felicity. “Want one?”

“Uh, um, no. I’ll have a sparkling water, please,” she says to the waiter that arrives briefly at her elbow, and then turns back to them. There’s something there - something in the way she stumbles makes him nervous, but he doesn’t know why or what to do about it. “Fancy water - it’s practically a party,” she says, overly brightly.

Diggle huffs a small laugh, and Felicity’s genuine, answering smile warms the table and calms him. They sit quietly, companionably. It’s not much, but it’s more comfort than Oliver has felt in a while.

“So…” Felicity starts, turning her bottle of Perrier around on the table, sneaking a glance at him over her glasses. Clearly wanting him to say what’s on his mind.

She knows him well. “So,” he announces, with more confidence than he feels, “Break’s over. It’s time to get back to work. All of us.”

That last bit was directed at Diggle, who downs a good portion of his beer before speaking. “Do you really think there’s still good for us to do here, Oliver?”

Oliver’s not sure that it’s skepticism Diggle’s feeling, so much as self-doubt. Oliver is still as afraid as ever to lead, but he figures it’s long past time he stepped up. And, if he’s honest, he needs to do it because he’s afraid of it. “I have to hope so, Dig.”

Diggle nods, and it seems to come to some kind of decision. He lifts his drink to the middle of the table. “To getting back in the ring.”

Felicity hesitates for just a moment - long enough for Oliver’s heart to skip a beat - but then, to his relief, she raises her bottle next to Diggle’s.

Oliver joins them. “To Team Arrow,” he adds. It earns him a fleeting look of approval from Felicity.

They’re not whole, and it’s not clear to Oliver when they will be. It makes him think back to when he started this; what it was like being the Hood, shouldering the entire city’s well-being onto himself. Even though he’s still angry, still in pain, he understands how much better off he is now. Despite everything, he has Diggle and Felicity. If blessings exist, they’re his.

He won’t lose them. If has to rebuild them single-handedly, he’ll do it. And in order to do that, he has to get them back out there, on the streets of the city they all love.

As long as they’re a team, he’ll never be alone, and neither will they.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say that, obviously, this is speculation. A lot of this is based on spoilers for the season, some of this is just me speculating for dramatic effect. I actually kind of hope they *don't* take to the same lines I did, but the idea appeared to me and wouldn't go away. So...yeah. Make of that what you will. ;)


End file.
